


The Old Familiar Sting

by goddessofcruelty



Series: Heroes [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Clint Has Issues, M/M, Masochism, One-Sided Relationship, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad, Self-Destructive Behavior, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because his feelings for Phil Coulson are complicated and messy, and Clint is so not ready to face those right now.</p>
<p>Or ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Familiar Sting

Clint's not the type to make a scene.

He doesn't storm out, demand attention and diva it up. That's Tony's schtick.

No, when Clint's sick and tired of hearing Coulson fangirling over Rogers for the four hundredth time, he slowly and silently edges towards the door.

Only Natasha notices him, and it's not as if Clint hasn't done this before, so while she darts him one of her _looks_ (and Tony swears she learned those from Pepper), she doesn't impede him in any way.

Tasha knows him better than anyone else in the world, and she knows that sometimes he just needs his space.

She doesn't push him to find out why. She also knows that he will tell her when he's ready.

Clint's pretty sure that she already has an inkling, because the spy in her will have noticed the pattern by now.

He only hopes that she thinks he's annoyed that Steve is getting so much attention...and not who he's getting it from.

Because his feelings for Phil Coulson are complicated and messy, and Clint is so not ready to face those right now.

Or ever.

-

Clint knows what he is. And what he isn't.

He doesn't have superpowers, he isn't a genius – not even close, and he doesn't have magical god powers. Clint's just a human guy who can shoot a bow.

He doesn't even have the benefit of a lifetime of super secret spy training. He's just a circus freak who learned tricks so he didn't starve.

Clint's not tall, with all-american good looks, muscles upon muscles, and a way of always doing the right thing.

He's not Steve.

-

Clint is on top of Stark Tower for three hours before Tony comes to see him, flying over the side and casually landing down.

“Jarvis said there was a bird infestation upstairs. If you want to build a nest, I'm going to have to charge you rent.”

Clint debates for a few seconds about stepping off the side of the roof.

Would Tony catch him? Would Coulson miss him?

Shaking his head, Clint throws the thoughts off for the time being. He knows they'll come back. They always do.

“Lets get some sushi.”

Clint knows the best way to distract Tony is food or science, and well, he's only good at one of those.

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite, Katniss.”

-

_He's staring into those crazed eyes, folded in half beneath the god of mischief._

_Clint's trapped in his own brain as his mouth repeats all the things that Loki wants him to say, as the bastard makes him ask for it, makes him beg and plead._

_He's only a passenger in his own brain as the Asgardian's control forces his body to do things Clint has never wanted to do._

Clint sits up with a gasp from the...nightmare. He refuses to call them memories. He prefers that those things never happened.

He pulls his blankets around him and huddles in them, sitting awake the rest of the night.

-

Clint has this cycle.

He's the only one who notices it, because he's tried damned hard to keep it that way.

Also, no one else gives a fuck.

 

It starts with Phil Coulson. 

Coulson does or says something that hits him exactly wrong, some praise of Steve, some comment on how Clint handled a situation, something that stabs a knife right in his insecurities.

Whatever it is, it pushes him over the edge of the fine line between Clint's everyday self-loathing, and the self-destructive darkness that lies beneath it.

Coulson is really the only one whose opinion matters enough to Clint, to get through his wall of indifference to the self-hating boy beneath. (Other than Natasha, but she has never crossed that line.)

 

The next step is the drive to isolate.

Clint feels the need to be more and more alone.

He pulls inward, sliding deeper and deeper inside his thoughts.

The rest of the Avengers call him moody and let him be.

 

Finally, Clint becomes self-destructive.

He gets reckless and starts throwing himself into dangerous situations. 

Which earns him more censure from his handler, which pushes him further into himself.

 

And eventually, Clint ends up...here.

_Here_ is a nondescript brick building with no sign, nothing in any way to distinguish it from any other.

It's a place where you have to know someone.

Clint walks in, sliding his pass in the elevator to get to the sub basement.

He nods curtly to the girl at the check counter, she knows him by sight. They've never spoken.

People like them don't get to speak here.

He picks up a black band from the counter and slips it on his wrist. A white one goes on the other.

There's a whole system of color codes.

 

After that, Clint checks his clothing, taking the leather half-mask she gives him and slipping it on, before attaching the leather strip around his neck that will hold his pass.

Clint knows exactly where he's going, so he heads towards the playroom, only stopping to step to the side and lower his eyes as a pair of Doms head down the hallway.

Absolute respect and obedience is the law of the land.

 

All the equipment is being used, and so Clint settles on the mats that signify the waiting area, kneeling motionlessly for what has to be an hour, before he's picked out of the lineup.

Clint has taken that time to center himself. Just being here, in this place of simplicity and absolutes has made his soul feel better.

He manages to rise gracefully despite the length of time holding position.

“Color?” The voice is soft, deep, masculine.

“Green, sir.”

“Safeword?”

“Natasha, sir.”

There's a slight hesitation, as names for safewords aren't generally a good idea, but the man decides to leave it be.

Clint could have told him that it wasn't necessary. He's never once used his safeword.

 

“Up on the cross, boy.”

Clint does as he's told, breathing a deep sigh of relief once he's strapped in.

He makes that mental step to the side and gives up control, lets everything settle on the Dom's shoulders.

The boy no longer has worries, no responsibilities, now he can just _be_.

The Dom starts off soft, and if Clint was analyzing, he would have said that this guy was either new to the place, or new to him.

But he isn't, because he's just the boy now, and he patiently waits while the Sir gets warmed up, closing his eyes and imagining Coulson behind him.

This Dom is clever enough to notice that he's having little effect, and so he switches on up to something with more sting.

When that first spark of pain-pleasure sizzles across the boy's skin, he gasps out a soft, “Thank you, Sir.”

From then on out, there's no more thinking as the Sir puts him through his paces.

There's only simple need.

 

The boy never once comes close to his word, he can take so much more than this man can give him.

Still, it's a good session, and the boy is grateful when he's pulled free, wrapped in a blanket and settled down with a glass of water.

The Dom keeps his arm around the boy's shoulders until he's come back to himself, returns to being Clint.

But he's a Clint who is calm and settled once again, who has his walls rebuilt firm and steady, walls built of the tranquility he can only find at the other end of a whip.

 

And when Clint returns to his place with the Avengers, he holds that bubble around him for as long as he can.

He closes his eyes and finds that space when Coulson goes on about Rogers, presses discretely into the welts when he's getting chewed out.

For the moment, Clint is at peace.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Hurt by Nine Inch Nails.
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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